


amber moment

by tomebreakr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 00:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomebreakr/pseuds/tomebreakr
Summary: dead dreambubble john has a chance encounter. i just read some slaughterhouse five, and with the full brunt of all my faux intellectualism,  i introduce  to you, a 900 word piece that i wrote  to punch  myself in the nuts. just a oneshot





	amber moment

**Author's Note:**

> didnt proof read at all so if its rife with errors SO BE IT

John never really believed in anything. God was in abstracts for him, a concept so distant that it never surfaced in his mind. He had a vague understanding of death- as all living things do. He knew that he would die and would end up dead, but never really thought about the post-death experience. 

He'd gone to church, been told about heaven and hell. That was all thanks to his dad. But, he hardly listened to the lengthy sermons, and spent his days in Sunday School staring at the pastor's reflective bald patch that seemed to grow a little bit bigger every time he attended.

Spiritually, philosophically, he had stunted his growth at the age of 11, when he had been "MATURE ENOUGH TO MAKE DECISIONS ABOUT WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN SON AND NO MATTER WHAT YOU CHOOSE, I'LL BE PROUD OF YOU". He had just stopped thinking about those things. Because an eleven year old had better, more important things to think about- like the new Ghostbusters movie that was about to come out or the math test he had tomorrow. Things like that. 

But now, he wasn't eleven anymore.

He was seventeen, floating in a dream bubble, in a burnt up suit, kicked out of the game for good.

If he had been of the Catholic inclination, he might've called this purgatory. But, he hadn't been, so he didn't really have a name for it, this state of being in between. But, at the very least, it was better than hell.

He steps back into his house. Takes a shower, washes the soot off, and changes back into his usual get up. White shirt with the off brand grinning slimer and cargo shorts. It all feels so familiar, but he’s sure that if he looks close enough, that there would be something different. A mistake in this afterlife. Or at least, he hopes that there would be. 

He looks out into the medium, beyond the swirling oily clouds of his planet, into the dead, black sky. It feels like a mirror, reflecting, projecting back into him. He feels like he’s getting sucked into this dark vacuum, a darkness so deep, that he would never see light again. He looks away. 

John has only been dead for a couple of days. Or, at least he thinks so. The clocks all have blank faces, and the T.V. seems to loop one program over and over. It’s hard to tell. But, he thinks that it doesn’t really matter anymore. Or, he can’t really bring himself to care all that much. 

He goes down the stairs, and pauses by the front door. Maybe he's waiting for a knock. He doesn't know if he's alone or not. He hasn't bothered to leave the house yet. He looks at it for a moment, before walking on.

He wanders into the kitchen, before he's nearly scared to death by the orange, glowing figure just floating next to his shadowy fridge. An impossible feat now, since he was already dead- So, scared him back to life? 

He flicks the lights on, wondering if this tangerine colored silhouette would disappear along with the shadows. But it doesn't, and instead, turns so quickly that its wings knock his dad's favorite, albeit beat up toaster, off the counter, allowing it to clatter onto the floor.

The orange apparition becomes a lot less unfamiliar, once he's turned around. 

Even with the feathers and wings and new radioactive glow, John would be able to recognize that face anywhere. 

It was Dave. His Dave. Even if he was shit with SBURB mechanics and timelines, he knew, in his bones that it was him. He had memorized him, committed him to a place where his likeness would never fade or yellow in his.mind. 

He's scared to step forward.

Scared that he would disappear, shimmer and fade like a mirage.

But John does it anyways, swallowing hard, mouth dry. 

Dave doesn’t disappear, and he remains in place. He's as solid as ever.

  
  


"...'Sup." 

John opens his mouth, closes it. The “sup” just seems to hang in the air, sitting there like a burden. He doesn’t know how to respond, words aren’t working. It’s all so overwhelming. 

Dave doesn’t even have any time to wedge in a "are you gonna stand there or something because" before John pulls him into a hug, squeezing him with as much strength as a ghost like him could muster.

There was something insurmountably terrifying about holding someone close to you. Close enough that you could feel them breathe in tandem with you, to sink your fingers into their hair and feel a comforting warmth. Because eventually, you know that it's going to crumble away- the breath will cease, the warmth will fade, and everything will slip away, like sand from in between your fingers. 

Dave knows all this- he can feel it, the march of time going ever forward, unrelenting. He can feel the seconds slipping by, the minutes disappearing, culminating into lost hours, days, years, a ticking as constant and as incessant as his heartbeat. 

He was a temporary visitor in a strange place.

But for once, it seemed that time had stopped. 

Dave can feel that John's shaking.

That he knows that he can't do anything to stop it. No matter what he tried. 

So, he just holds him. Tightly.

"I missed you." 

Comes John's voice, soft, unpolished. 

Silence passes, skips a beat.

"I missed you, too."

  
  
  



End file.
